


on the brink of going supernova

by haemophilus



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Backstory, Coping, F/M, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trauma, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemophilus/pseuds/haemophilus
Summary: Bucky and Natasha find a way to hang on to their humanity for another night.





	on the brink of going supernova

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I don't even know what to do with myself. Me - getting feelings about soft and tender happenings! What is this nonsense. Anyway, enjoy my smut full of feelings.
> 
> Content warning for everything tagged. It's not full on KGB trash party but it is very much implied.

His footsteps were tentative when he went to her room that night. There were no doors - the Kremlin was  _ always  _ watching - but he always knocked politely on her frame before coming in. James was the only assassin she knew who had any sort of manners that weren't manufactured for missions. Scraps of a former life that was a mystery to both of them.

Natasha let out an inquisitive hum as though she had been woken from sleep. It was easier on both of them if it didn't seem like she was waiting.

“Can I come in?” he asked in halting Russian.

“Only if you try to seduce me in English,” she said, code-switching elegantly mid-sentence. “I need the practice.”

Natasha sat up in her bed and opened the covers in a welcoming way.

“One day that line isn't going to work anymore,” he said as he walked inside. Natasha swallowed a gasp when she saw his face. James had a black eye and a gash that ranged from the bottom of his ear to down past the neck of his grey regulation pajamas. He had a large welt across his forehead as though he'd been whipped in the face. Even his metal hand sported a few dents. Despite all this, he was smiling fondly at her.

Instead of asking -  _ much  _ too difficult if he didn't want to answer - she said, “James,” and touched under her ear. James laid his fingers on the gash there without wincing. His eyes hardened before going curiously blank.

“This? It's nothing. Just average torture resistance training. I'm sure you’ll go through it too.”

Natasha rubbed at a small welt on her wrist from that morning. It didn’t hurt; her skin healed much faster than James’. Despite his lack of a healing factor, the KGB always tortured him harder than they ever tried with her. She was a valuable operative who needed to be in top shape when she went on missions. James was just a gun with a high tolerance for pain. 

“Probably. But they didn’t make  _ you _ eternally thirty,” she said.

He sat down on her bed carefully as though he was in a great deal of pain. His face, however, remained stoic. Nevertheless, he gave a small sigh of relief when he finally found a position that looked comfortable.

“I think they might someday if I do a good job,” he said.  

Natasha moved over to James until she was sat behind him on her knees. She parted his long hair away from the back of his neck and kissed the scars she saw there. He let out a soft moan when she gently wrapped an arm around his stomach.

“You can relax for now,” she said. “I promise I won’t tell.”

James nodded, gripping her hand in his own. He kissed her knuckles and then let go so he could take off his own shirt. Natasha stilled the movement of his hands when even his metal fingers seem to struggle with the buttons.

“Let me,” she said, toying with a button on the front of his shirt.  

“Okay,” he breathed. 

Natasha undid the buttons from behind, careful to not press too hard into his back in case he had severe injuries there she couldn’t see yet. Each button revealed new information about his pain - the extent of the bruising, the length of the cuts, the depths of the welts, the sheer number of small burns. Injuries that would only damage Natasha’s pride writ permanently on James’ skin. 

When the shirt was entirely open, she ran her fingers down the cut that started beneath his ear. It stopped at his belly button. She kissed the spot under his ear where the cut began. Then, she pulled the shirt off of his shoulders and down his back. Natasha let out a hiss through her teeth as though she herself was in pain when she saw the angry marks on his skin. He had been flogged with a leather belt that had a metal buckle judging by the brutal combination of gashes, bruises, and welts all over his back. A large burn ranged from the middle of his back to the place where his metal arm was locked to his body. The arm itself had some discoloration; it was a chemical burn.

“I actually think they held back more than usual tonight,” he said faux-casually as Natasha brushed her fingers over his wounds. “I could have handled a lot more.”

Natasha sighed. In a just world, someone would tell him this was all wrong and break him out. Instead, all she could offer were words that would help him survive.

“They wouldn't want to damage their best sharp-shooter too much. You're too valuable to break.”

“You think so?” said James with pride in his voice. Natasha unbuttoned her own shirt and took it off. She pressed her nude chest to James’s back and rested her head on his right shoulder. Her hands came to rest on his thighs.

“Absolutely,” she said as she fiddled with the elastic of his pajama bottoms. He became tense against her. 

“Don’t take off my pants,” he said quietly.”We can keep going but just - they stay on.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d had this obstacle during sex. Violent sodomizing with a variety of objects was actual routine training against torture. Though she had few physical scars from her own experience with this act, she understood the psychological toll all too well. 

“I can work with that,” said Natasha. Her fingers slid down into his pants and brushed over his cock. She ground her palm against his bulge and kissed his neck until he was panting.

“Can you talk a little?” he said. His hand clenched the bedsheets. “I like hearing your voice. It's. . .pretty.”

“What would you like me to say?” she purred, tucking her fingers under the band of his underpants. Natasha pulled his cock out of his briefs and stroked the underside with a light touch. James sucked in a sharp breath and let out a long moan.

“Something real,” he said.

Natasha kissed the burn scar on his shoulder, thinking, thinking.

“I had a dream about the two of us a few weeks ago,” she said as she started to jerk him off. James tilted his head back onto her chest and closed his eyes. 

“Were we on a mission?” he asked, looking half-gone with pleasure. 

“No,” she murmured into the shell of his ear. James shivered. “We were having lunch in a park. It was late afternoon and you were giving the crust of your bread to a fat duck.”

Natasha sped up her hand, twisting her wrist in the way James liked.

“Sounds nice,” he said through labored breaths. Natasha ran her thumb over the head of his cock. She rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“It was. We spent a long time walking around a lake and then found a spot to sit under a tree. Couples walked by us and they were holding hands.”

James had held her hand too under the tree. Both of their bodies were unscarred and whole when they undressed each other in the grass, crowds mysteriously gone. Natasha stilled her hand, considering whether to share this part of her dream.

“I don't remember anything after that,” she said quietly. James removed her hand from his cock with gentle fingers.

“We should lie down. I want to see you when we -”

Filthy words always turned into silent innuendos in James’ mouth. He had lived a less obscene life once. Before whatever war he'd been captured from had stolen his youth. The superiority of the Kremlin was readily apparent whenever she considered the way James’ sexual repression contrasted with his talent for violence. The West sold nothing but lies about the freedom of its people. At least the USSR was honest about its social control. 

Natasha pulled away from James and laid down on the bed. She pulled off her pants and underwear, finally giving herself a little attention. James straddled her and flushed when he saw her touching herself. With her free hand, she tucked a sweaty lock of James’ hair behind his ear. Her thumb lingered on a scar that felt like a bite before she pulled her hand away.

“Can I kiss you tonight?” he asked. Natasha pulled his hand to her chest.

“Please,” she said. James brushed his cold, hard thumb over her breast more delicately than she thought he was able. He leaned down and kissed her so gently that their mouths barely met. Natasha pulled him closer to kiss him harder, gripping his back tight where she knew he had the fewest wounds. She dug her heel into the mattress and rolled her hips up towards him. He got the hint and rutted into her leg as he kissed her more deeply. Natasha pushed a couple of fingers inside herself, imagining that it was James’ cock inside her. He stilled for a moment and touched her forehead with his own. 

“I feel like I’m not helping very much,” he said.

Natasha pulled her fingers out of herself. She held them up to James’ lips. He sucked them into his mouth, moaning as he tasted her. Then, she pulled her fingers out of his mouth, and touched herself again.

“I disagree. I needed that,” she said as she worked back up to a steady rhythm. James grinned and kissed her. Soon, his kisses became sloppy, hardly more than open-mouthed moans on her lips and neck. The sight of him slowly coming undone flooded her body with arousal. She put her middle finger inside her, curling her finger as she thrusted against a spot that wrung new pleasure from deep within. Her body was growing more tense; climax was near.

“Oh. . .God -” moaned James into her neck. Then, she felt warmth flood onto her thigh as he came. He kissed her through the tremors that wracked his entire body as though he would like nothing more than to stay together as one whole, forever. Natasha thrust inside herself faster. She was so damn close.

When James was finished, he propped himself up on his elbow and gazed happily at her with glazed eyes. Despite all of the injuries on his face, he looked radiant. James brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. With that, she came. 

When the last of the tremors left her body, she pulled her fingers out of herself and held them up to his lips.

“Want another taste?”

He pulled her fingers closer to his lips and sucked them into his mouth. His eyes never left hers until he was done cleaning all of the come off of her fingers. Then, he rested her palm in his cheek, skin on skin on skin, and closed his eyes.

Natasha gently pushed James off of her when it became too hot to have such close contact. To comfort the look of disappointment on his face, she grabbed his flesh-and-blood hand and rubbed it with her thumb.

“Do you think we'd really get caught if I stayed the night?” he said. Natasha squeezed his hand. They both knew the answer but it was hard all the same.

“Yes. But we have a little more time before sunrise to be together.” 

James nodded. He turned onto his side, pulling him along with her. She tucked one leg between his and rested her chin on his shoulder. His eyes closed.

“I can live with that,” he said.

  
  



End file.
